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“The ‘moter didn’t work. I still don’t feel good.” Johnathan is home sick today and I am now a nurse AND aunt.

Applying my unemployment situation in the most charitable, mature manner, I’m ingesting germs with steady catering and coddling. Juice box? Sure! Lightning McQueen pillow? I’m right on top of that! My insane time-preoccupancies are also hard at work, because I know that in 30 more minutes he’ll need a second dose of Tylenol, after which I’ll update and record his temperature stats (I’m an organized self-starter).

I told him the “‘moter” only tells us how hot he is, and that it’s medicine that will make him better. He then reasoned that the medicine ALSO mustn’t work. The visible evidence, “My cheeks are still red.” :(

Accompanying the hotness is a mid-grade cough we’re watching closely, since he’s slightly asthmatic and never got the H1N1 shot. The trepidation understandably has allowed me to let him wear his new snow boots and lay in my room watching Bolt on my laptop for the bazillionth time. So I’m on the desktop. Throw back. MTC.